Tracey Emin is wrong: being a mother makes my art better

“Women don’t paint well, it’s a fact…” said the German painter Georg Baselitz in 2013. He used that year’s sales records as evidence, adding that women “simply don’t pass the value test.” Now, one of this nation’s leading female artists, Tracey Emin, has advanced the debate—drawing a line between the abilities of those artists with children and those without. “I would have been either 100 per cent mother or 100 per cent artist. I am not flaky and I don’t compromise…There are good artists that have children... they are called men,” she said. As both a female artist, represented by a respected London gallery, and a mother I don’t know what I find more offensive; that I can no longer be “good,” that I am perceived as “flaky,” or that I am apparently unable to commit fully to either my child or career.

Some commentators last week expressed shock that Apple and Facebook are willing to cover the cost of egg freezing for female employees, but at least this is financial support which might possibly make it easier for professional women to juggle having children and a career. For artists, it’s not so much a question of delaying motherhood but forgoing it all together. Women employed in “normal jobs” get full maternity pay for at least six months and their positions are technically secure, but the only support available for a self-employed creative is Maternity Allowance, a mere £552.72 per month. For an emerging artist with no savings and who is not yet a homeowner, this doesn’t come close to covering the rental costs of a flat and studio space. The second hurdle is the gallery. I know artists who have been “strongly advised” by their (male and female) dealers against having children, as it will ruin their career. If you decide to go ahead and breed, it is highly likely that your gallery will quietly sideline you. They may keep you on their books but make little attempt to sell or show your work. The general view seems to be that you are somehow tarnished—less available, less visible and less productive. In my experience, once you have a baby your gallery’s faith in you is shaken and your earning potential, at least temporarily, is diminished.

Is Emin saying that it is ok for a woman to make art about promiscuity, rape, periods and to employ an approach that is “womanly,” as long as she eschews the ultimate test of woman-ness, that is to actually reproduce? Since Emin’s work is famously drawn from her own life, perhaps she shied away from having children because as we know there is little of interest to be found in other people’s offspring. All The Nappies I’ve Changed is nowhere near as intriguing a title as All The People I’ve Slept With. Clearly, art about babies born (as opposed to aborted) and breast-as-nourishment (as opposed to titillation) would lack that certain addictive, tragic vigor that gives Emin’s work such broad appeal.

Suzanne Moore sees Emin’s comments as a revival of the “pram in the hall is the enemy of art” debate, but it is more the perception of mothers-as-artists within the art-world patriarchy that is the real focus. Emin is playing up to the notion that having children dampens your ability to make great art, making those like me with years of experience suddenly devalued. There is no call to increase the number of “good” female artists with children. Nor are there any useful suggestions such as the incorporation of childcare facilities into studio buildings. Instead, it’s all about strengthening her own position. Emin, a successful female from an age where this was a rare commodity, sees her childless state as evidence of her commitment, a sign that she is  “genuine” and therefore a “good investment” as well as a good artist.  Those of us with children, by default, are not.

As far as I am concerned having a child was the turbo boost my creativity needed. A decade on from completing my MA I was feeling exhausted, washed out, and stuck in a creative rut brought about by a sense of being railroaded by my gallery who were focused on pandering to collectors’ demands. The child brought something “other”—time to think, new friends, new interests and personal strength. Nothing makes the studio more appealing than a dose of domesticity. Time limitations are an irritation, but they can induce a sense of urgency. It’s true that my output has diminished, but if I were a man, the scarcity of work available to buy would more likely be spun in a positive fashion. For example, take the Scottish painter Peter Doig, also a parent, whose low output is one of his key selling points. As it is, a woman who makes less work after having a baby does so because she is apparently “compromised.”

Until I had a child my career seemed to be in the ascendancy. The “I am pregnant” conversation seemed to flick a switch—sales and exhibitions dwindled to a trickle, my phone calls and emails went unanswered. The art world seems unable to grasp the fact that I am still here, still working, still making art. I had a baby, not a lobotomy. My story sadly is not unique. I don’t know who peddles the myth that creativity dies when the child arrives but it certainly wasn’t a mother.